Laced with Poison (19 page)

Emma was about to pull out of the parking lot when she thought she might as well tie
everything up tonight. She pulled her cell phone from her purse, called information
and got Gladys Smit’s number.

Unfortunately the phone rang and rang and rang without anyone answering it. Disappointed,
Emma dropped her cell into her purse and headed back to her apartment over Sweet Nothings.

Emma’s phone rang as she was opening her apartment door. Arabella was anxious to know
how the evening had gone. Emma filled her in on the details. Tomorrow she would track
down Gladys and try to confirm things.

Tonight, however, she made herself some tea and toast and crawled into bed with a
book.

*   *   *

THURSDAY wasn’t Sylvia’s day at Sweet Nothings, but Arabella was certain she could
handle the shop alone and urged Emma to visit Gladys Smit as soon as possible. Emma
headed out the door just before lunch, when they were least likely to be busy. She’d
found Gladys’s address easily enough via whitepages.com—small garden apartments about
ten minutes away. The place was quite run-down, with peeling paint and no gardens
to speak of. One of the units had a wreath of fading pastel Easter eggs on the front
door. It turned out to be Gladys’s apartment.

The two parking spaces in front of the unit were empty, which most likely meant that
Gladys was out. Emma rang the bell anyway and waited hopefully. She thought she saw
the curtain in the window twitch, but no one came to
answer the door. She was turning away when the neighbor next door stuck her head out
the window.

“Looking for Gladys?” She had jet-black hair permed into impossible curls that were
at odds with the hard lines around her eyes and mouth.

“Yes.”

“Today’s her day for the Rowlands. She does for them every Tuesday and Thursday.”
She shook her head, but her well-shellacked curls didn’t move. “I haven’t seen her
around today. And not yesterday, either, come to think of it. But she didn’t say nothing
about going away. Besides, where would she go?”

Emma assumed that was a rhetorical question. “You don’t happen to know where these
people live, do you? The Rowlands?”

The woman stuck her arm out the window and gestured vaguely toward the north. “You
know that new development they just finished building over that way? With all those
big houses?”

Emma had a vague idea, but she figured she could always look up the Rowlands’ address
the way she had Gladys’s.

She thanked the woman and turned away, digging her cell from her purse as she walked
toward her car. She slid into the front seat and brought up the Internet on her phone.
In a few minutes she had the Rowlands’ address and was heading in that direction.

The woman was right about the development—it was brand-new and all the houses were
enormous. She found the right house easily enough. Landscapers were rolling sod across
the barren front yard while another crew was planting a birch tree along the walk
leading to the back of the house.

Emma skirted the workers carefully and went up to the front door. Her knock was answered
almost immediately by a
harassed-looking woman in her forties. She was wearing a tennis outfit, and a racket
was propped against the chest in the foyer.

“I thought you were Gladys,” she said when she saw Emma. “Although why she would come
to the front door, I can’t imagine.”

Somewhere inside Emma could hear a toddler yelling for juice.

“Keep your shirt on. I’ll be right there,” the woman called over her shoulder. “I
can’t imagine what’s happened. Gladys should have been here by now. She always watches
Hannah for me when I have my lesson.” She gestured toward the racket, then turned
back and stared at Emma. “What do you want?”

“I’m sorry. I was actually hoping to catch Gladys. Her neighbor said she would be
here.”

“She should be. I have no idea where she’s gotten to. She hasn’t called, either.”

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” Emma started backing away.

The woman slammed the door shut without another word.

What now?
Emma thought as she drove back toward the shop. She hoped nothing had happened to
Gladys. The thought gave her a chill, and she rolled her window up.

Arabella looked up expectantly when Emma got back to Sweet Nothings. Emma shook her
head. “Gladys wasn’t home. I managed to find out where she works on Thursdays, but
she didn’t show up today. No one seems to know where she is. Her neighbor hadn’t seen
her all day today or yesterday.”

“That’s odd.” Arabella shrugged. “Perhaps she’s gone away for some reason.”

Emma was about to answer when the door opened.

“Hey y’all,” Angel Roy called out. “I’m here to do me some shopping. I’ve got a new
squeeze and I need something to impress him with.” She smiled coyly. “Other than the
usual.” She wiggled her rear end suggestively. “Men do like their presents gift wrapped.”

“You’re absolutely right.” Arabella hesitated with her hand on a drawer. “Are you
thinking of something vintage or contemporary?”

“This boy’s the contemporary type.”

“Color?”

“Something pastel and pretty.”

“I have just the thing.” Arabella opened the drawer, took out several items and displayed
them on the counter.

“Oooh,” Angel squealed. “Those sure are pretty.” She picked up a pair of the bikini
panties. “Tyler’ll like these for sure.”

“What does Tyler do?” Emma asked.

“He works over at the car wash on Market Street.”

Emma wondered when Angel was going to find someone as ambitious as she was. This Tyler
didn’t sound like that sort.

“Oh, did I mention Tyler happens to
own
the car wash? And he’s thinking about opening another on the other side of town.
Tyler and me are of like minds, that’s for sure.”

“What about Tom Mulligan? You dated for quite awhile,” Arabella asked as Emma pulled
a few items from the display case and placed them on the counter along with the things
Arabella had chosen.

“Oh, we’re still friends. No hard feelings. As a matter of fact, I ran into him at
that bar out on Route 69 last night, and he couldn’t have been nicer. Oh!” Angel squealed
as she held a lacy bustier up to herself and admired the effect
in the mirror. “Get this. Tom told me that the police were around his shop yesterday
asking all kinds of questions.”

“Is Tom in trouble?” Emma asked.

“No, not at all. They were wondering if anyone had brought in a car for some bodywork.
Seems like there was a hit-and-run accident Tuesday night.”

“Really.” Emma put down the garment she was holding.

“That’s terrible.” Arabella tut-tutted. “I don’t understand how someone could do that.”

“Neither do I.” Angel gathered up some of the things she wanted to try on. “The poor
woman was on a bicycle, and this car hit her and then boom”—she snapped her fingers—“it
took off like that.”

“Is she okay?” Emma’s heart had started to beat hard.

Angel shook her head. “No, she’s dead. Didn’t even make it to the hospital, poor thing.”

“You don’t happen to know—” Emma began.

“She did work for the Porters on occasion. Both the old lady and the daughter-in-law.
As a matter of fact, she was helping serve at some shindig Mrs. Porter was having
that night.”

“Is there any chance the police mentioned her name?”

Angel shook her head. “No, but the main squeeze of a friend of mine works in the police
department. Animal control, but he keeps his ear to the ground. Said her name was
Gladys Smit.”

BY the time Angel left, the coffers of Sweet Nothings were considerably richer. Obviously
Angel spared no expense when reeling in a new beau. She carried off two bags full
of beautiful lacy pastel undergarments to tempt her latest conquest.

Emma looked at the figures on the register. “Angel’s salon must be doing very well
if she can spend money like that.”

A shadow crossed over Arabella’s face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, really. It’s just that I feel guilty for keeping you here with me. You’ve
given up your job in New York where I’m sure you made much more money and had lots
more fun.”

Emma threw her arms around her aunt. “I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything
in the world.”

Arabella squeezed her back. “Just so you’re sure.”

Emma thought of Brian. “I’m positive.”

“What do you make of that hit-and-run?” Arabella turned to Emma.

“I can’t believe it. Do you think it really was an accident?” She looked at Arabella.

“I don’t know, dear. It seems awfully coincidental, don’t you think? Here’s Gladys
about to tell you who she saw going out into the garden, and the next minute she’s
being run off her bicycle. Of course, coincidences do happen. All the time, I’m afraid.”

“Or, maybe someone else had it in for Gladys. Although she hardly seemed the type
to rack up enemies like notches in a belt.”

“I thought she was even blander than vanilla ice cream. But you know that saying—still
waters run deep. Is there any merit in checking with her neighbors? Perhaps an old
beau had it in for her or she got herself mixed up with the wrong people somehow?”

“I can certainly try. Do you think Francis would be able to get any information through
the Bureau?”

“Possibly. I can always ask him.”

“How is his undercover work going, by the way?”

Arabella’s face brightened. “He said that so far it has been nothing but boredom and
sore feet from making rounds night after night. I’m so relieved. I was quite terrified
when he told me about it.”

*   *   *

EMMA and Arabella were about to close up shop when the telephone rang. Arabella grabbed
the receiver. She listened for several seconds, then put her hand over the mouthpiece.

“Sylvia’s calling to see if we can come over for a drink.”

“Sure.”

Arabella spoke briefly with Sylvia and hung up the phone. “Do you mind if I drive?
It will give me an excuse to refuse that incendiary vodka Sylvia always offers us.”

Ten minutes later, they’d finished closing Sweet Nothings for the night and were headed
toward Sunny Days in Arabella’s car.

Sylvia answered their knock immediately. Emma suspected that she had been standing
by the door waiting.

“Come in, come in.” The string of gold bangles on her wrists jingled melodically as
Sylvia waved her arms at them.

Emma and Arabella were somewhat surprised to see Earl sitting in an easy chair, looking
as if he quite belonged, his long legs stretched out in front of him, a small glass
in his hand and his cane leaning within easy reach against an end table.

“Pardon me if I don’t get up.” He smiled apologetically. “It’s getting harder and
harder to get out of chairs these days.”

“You need one of those chairs where the seat pops up and pushes you to your feet.”
Sylvia reached for the iced vodka bottle on the coffee table.

“I’m not quite ready for that yet.”

“You mean you’re not ready to admit you’re ready for that yet,” Sylvia corrected.

Earl laughed. “You’re probably right.” He gestured toward the bottle in Sylvia’s hand.
“Enough of that. We’re ignoring our guests.”

Emma’s ears perked up at the word
we
.

“None for me, thanks. I’m driving.” Arabella held up her hand.

“Only a sip for me,” Emma said. “I have to get some work done later tonight.”

Sylvia filled a tiny glass for Emma and refilled Earl’s. “What can I get you?” She
looked at Arabella.

“I’m fine for now. I’m excited to hear what your news is.”

Emma looked at Earl, comfortably ensconced in his chair, and noticed the way Sylvia
looked at him every couple of minutes, and began to wonder if perhaps Sylvia had found
love at Sunny Days.

Sylvia smiled at Emma and Arabella. “Thank goodness Crystal Davis is gone. That Decker
woman still isn’t talking to me, but some of the others have come around.”

“Could it be that she was a little upset the time you substituted salt for sugar in
the bowl on her table?” Earl cocked a bristly white eyebrow at Sylvia.

“Oh, that.” Sylvia waved a hand dismissively. “All in good fun, you know.”

“Do you still think that Crystal is the one most likely to have killed Jessica?” Arabella
said. “She had to have really been suffering, poor thing. Most of the items she stole
were useless to her—or at least she wasn’t making any use of them by stuffing them
in that cupboard. It must have been some kind of mental quirk—a compulsion she couldn’t
control. And to have Jessica make her life miserable because of it probably only made
it worse.”

“I’ve heard of people like that.” Sylvia nodded. “They’re like those birds that collect
shiny objects.”

“You mean magpies?” Earl said.

“If Crystal did kill Jessica, then it seems likely she also killed Gladys. To prevent
her from telling anyone that she saw Crystal go out into the garden that afternoon.”

“But how to prove it?” Arabella asked.

“If we could find her car…see if there’s been damage done. The police have been asking
around all the local body shops, but what if Crystal’s keeping it hidden in her garage?”